


Hold It Against Me

by UlternateFreak



Series: With Love, You Should Go Ahead and Take the Risk [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Attraction, Body Worship, Boys In Love, Boys Will Be Boys, Caught, Fetish, Gay Harley Keener, Grinding, Idiots in Love, M/M, Parent Tony Stark, Precious Peter Parker, Thighs, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlternateFreak/pseuds/UlternateFreak
Summary: If asked which part of Peter Parker Harley fancied the most - in what surely proved a cruel disillusionment of a maddening crush - than the immediate answer would be his thighs.And he'd gladly suffocate between Peter's legs if only he'd permit him to do so.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: With Love, You Should Go Ahead and Take the Risk [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165016
Comments: 9
Kudos: 251
Collections: Peter Parker





	Hold It Against Me

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot prompted by the handful of thigh pics released on Tom Holland's Instagram.

If asked which part of Peter Parker Harley fancied the most - in what surely proved a cruel disillusionment of a maddening crush - than the immediate answer would be his thighs.

Many a number of people would, and certainly could, go on and on about his smile, or his eyes - which were always perked in mirth, laugh lines carved into the edges of his mouth and at the end-tips of his eyes. And yet the part of him that made Harley physically weak in the knees every time - especially when caught around him in combat - was simply just so: _thighs_.

Whenever Peter decided to forgo pants, choosing instead to rock a pair of shorts - Harley would readily fall into a fit of despair - where his mouth watered only to completely dry itself out, eyes unable to keep to attention no matter the duty at hand.

"Are you even trying?" Peter asks after the umpteenth time of Harley being sent over and onto his back - his body pressed and straddling over the southern teen's hip. Wrists, all the while, pinned and tossed on either side of his head.

And yes, of course he was trying - adamantly so, but only to get the other to keep pressing his thighs into his groin - his hands always giving in and letting up to glide over Peter's bare legs, daring only to skim the brim of his shorts ever so slightly. If he fisted them, in turn showing where Peter's skin whitened in tone - un-kissed by the sun - then surely it meant little to nothing else than simply a sudden jerk of his hands.

If Harley then sought a shower after their mutual sessions, than it was to relieve his body of the dirt and grime of a physical work out - and not as a ruse to curtain the fact that he always jerked off to the ghost touches of where Peter's thighs had pressed into his own body.

"Sorry," he says to the lingering question, eyes only vaguely shifting from Peter's face - and hands idly only just taking claim to the others upper outer thigh. Peter, in his usual fits and casual mirth, simply harks a laugh to his face - beads of sweat collecting at the crook of where his nose broadened out and into his brows.

"You've been distracted lately," Peter then muses aloud - still collectively nestled in Harley's lap - though leaning upward to quell his body back, his spine arching with his movement.

And Harley must grit down his teeth from releasing a hellish and grating moan for such a motion. The likes of which stem from the deepest animalistic part of himself that always seems to teeter closer to the dark every time Peter gifts him with a simple looking of his sultry and sinful body.

What he'd give to see Peter propped up in a similar fashion - hair undone, sweat just as drenching, and thighs bare and scorched in a flush as he buries his cock deep inside of him.

" _Lately_ ," Harley chuckles in spite of his pride, and his depraved horniness - the word a harsh echo of want and teasing, which brims a little too close to home for comfort.

And Peter, in his efforts, cocks a brow at him - smile quivering into a firmer - contemplative - line.

"Yeah," he repeats, " _lately_."

'Always', Harley wants to correct. Hands moving to inch ever so slightly higher on Peter's legs. And Peter must acknowledge them this time around, his face blossoming into a dusty pink as he does the unthinkable and moves his hips in a small, though quite frank, circular manner.

A sudden shift in pupils and mouth tell Harley that Peter is very uncertain as to where such a brash choice had surfaced from. And yet he doesn't quell in the slightest, choosing instead to plant his hands on Harley's chest - steadying his weight as he tries for the motion again. This time, directly and intentionally watching for Harley's immediate reaction.

And such a thing harpens him to shove Peter's shorts higher, palms steadfast to touch where they hadn't been able to explore before now.

He moans, his ass now flush with Harley's hardening erection - the usual secret of such becoming fact, and impossible to forgo and forget.

They don't utter a single word - Harley too preoccupied to do so, and Peter too caught in fascinated unclarity that's only silenced by clear arousal and a need to study what is certainly now a new development within their friendship.

He arches, neck opened and fragile looking - the flush of his face trailing down and disappearing into the hemline of his tight athletic shirt.

Harley wants to rid of such a barrier - to explore more untouched skin, but seeks further with his current expedition - fingers threading past Peter's boxer briefs and cupping the sides of his ass. Rolling and massaging the flesh found there - like fresh dough ready for baking.

He's in love with this part of him - and would gladly suffocate between Peter's thighs if only he'd permit him to do so.

" _Ahem-_ " An urgent cough roughly echoes - stalling and startling in a breath of a second.

Harley, in a moment that surely proves miniscule, is nearly shocked back - hand forcefully removed from satin, and body sent backwards - back colliding into a rack of dumbbells - with Peter, simultaneously, propelled opposite - and uprooted - on top of sticking - to the back wall.

"I came in here to offer food," Tony begins again, brushing by with a takeout bag. Eyes quizzical and without their usual smugness as he takes care to assure that Harley is physically alright from his unexpectant stunt. "Peps insistence really - uh, so...how long has this thing been-? Is this a thing?"

Both boys, as before, say nothing. Though the mirrored mortification at having been caught is tremendous. And the feeling of such motions about the room, expanding into every shadow - before wilting into something awkward and abrasively ugly.

"Don't answer that," the man then continues, this time trying for a witty remark, "I'm not the proper role model for that - uh, ground rules should follow suit, right? Right. You're both seventeen for Christ's sake - not that - that stopped me - but-" At this, Tony takes a measured breath - his brows moving to reside higher upon his face as he does, "I can't be morally responsible for two horny teenagers. So this being my roof - my rules. Doors open from here on out. No sex. No anything. Uh...right, I should go now. Maybe there's a book Pep can recommend: 'how to have the sex talk with your two prodigies, who are seemingly seeing one another.'" With that, the man makes to leave - dropping the bag of what smells to be Mexican food of some sort - then stops, "right, no - one of you should leave with me."

"You-" he then demands into the heavy silence - snap and pointer finger directly given to Harley, "as I'm sure you're the instigator here."

And, to be fair - Harley thinks as he collectively stands to follow the man out - Tony isn't completely in the wrong. He had always given into his guilty touches after all - though Peter had certainly escalated the current events at hand by unfairly grinding his ass into him. Essentially sealing their fates, and inducing Tony's mid to near heart attack.

"I gotta tell you," Tony then mutters as they're leaving, chuckle nervously given to hold himself over, "I'd appreciate some semblance of words - even if it's just to tell me off. Which would rightfully earn you a kick in the ass - but I'm floundering here. Judy Blume didn't write a novel on this, kid."


End file.
